


empty

by lovesongs



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Light Angst, Slice of Life, one-sided jackbum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 20:22:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14776634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesongs/pseuds/lovesongs
Summary: we're both empty, you and i.





	empty

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iridescentjaebum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentjaebum/gifts).



> it's a gift for my friend, amber. i was supposed to post it on her graduation day, but i've decided to post it now. i love you, darling. you're amazing and you deserve every bit of happiness and success. and sorry that markbum aren't lovers in this one. i suck at romance.

Prologue

Mark

1.

Mark's never been good at picking out characters that would suit him, instead he transferred that competence to his manager who's never failed at accomplishing his mission, not even once. He was perfectly aware of Mark's taste in characters he were to play so Mark could breathe easy and not even get in a fluster about that, he could trust Jinyoung when it came down to sorting out scripts that were sent on a daily basis and choosing the most decent one out of them all. Mark wasn't as athletic as his colleagues so he couldn't handle performing stunts himself in action movies; he's never truly loved anyone so he always declined offers to star in a romantic comedy or a melodrama. They're out of questions, struck out of a list of people that he possibly could transmute into.

He had a precise ability to retreat into a person he was supposed to play, seizing the lineaments that pertained to the character perfectly, immersing himself into a totally different human being whose personality or outlook were at odds with his own, who might've had another hair color or parents or who could've been the only child in the family whereas he, Mark Tuan, was one of the four siblings. He loved his job yet he wasn't fond of his publicity because of all the drawbacks, including being pursued one evening after another urgent meeting with the cast.

Nevertheless, it was inevitable and foreseen.

And he couldn't control it.

-

He was used to being on the road all the time, be it by car or train or plane or afoot. Landscapes, faces, voices, everything that he was able to hear or see alternated, intermingled, superimposed, and sometimes he lost all sense of time and could no longer say where he was. Usually, when he felt suffocated and trapped, overly absorbed in his mundane work, changing garments and personalities as though they were gloves, he made a break for it. Hoping into his Pontiac and driving off to the seashore where he could take a deep breath without having to worry about being constantly spied on. He rarely had an opportunity to break loose though so most of the time when he was stuck in a traffic jam he had nothing else to do but to look through his friends' instagram accounts and feel his life slowly gliding past.

-

He didn't particularly like his apartment, it was too spacious, it might've seemed that life was sucked out of it and as a result it was left bare and desolate. As miserable as Mark. That's what his manager said once he stepped into his apartment while Mark was getting ready for another trip to a foreign country for shooting. He wasn't wrong yet he wasn't right either. He couldn't call his apartment home in a general sense, it was more of a temporary shelter where he could take a deep breath and bide his time. No place was really his home. Even his parents' house back in Arcadia or their country house not far from Los Angeles where he, a child, could run around barefoot in summer and not worry about things that adults were supposed to dwell on. He couldn't point at a spot on the map which he was able to call his home. Wholeheartedly. That's why Mark'd slowly formed a habit of attaching himself to literally any place.

2.

He was thirty four years old.

He met his late wife when he was twenty eight. Six years had passed since their first ever encounter at their friend's wedding reception. She was twenty three, young, full of energy and wit and just out of college, her Bachelor's degree was related to producing. Even when they started dating, Mark still regarded her as another insultingly arrogant, insolent youngster who assumed that it'd be a cinch to become another Wes Anderson or Quentin Tarantino. She, his wife, was undeniably creative and intriguing, yes, but that's it. She wasn't a prodigy, but was quite persistent for her age, and sometimes the ideas she suggested to a director worked out quite well and fit in the overall picture.

They got married when Mark was thirty and a bit more successful than he'd been before.

She died two years later in a plane crash and left behind a few vynil records, a cup and a pile of dresses and her combat boots.

3.

A character he was supposed to play in Choi Youngjae's new movie, "Nepenthe", could be described as his precise replica. They were to shoot it in Hong Kong, and Mark's character was a middle-aged professor working in Hong Kong who'd just lost his partner.

Out of thin air he recollected his late wife, her habit to go for long strolls and smoke a cigarette a day, her dresses she'd inherited from her mother and her unique manner of speaking English and mingling it with Cantonese and Mandarin, turning it all into a clutter of phrases which didn't match. His character's partner who'd died from brain cancer and not in a plane crash wasn't even a half of her yet he had to mourn that woman as though it were his late wife. He could, of course.

After all, he was an actor.

Mark had always felt as though there were two of him: the former of those was actor Mark, always in control, able to handle any situation and put on a false front at any time, and then, there was the other one, more fragile and insecure, strung out and constantly on edge.

4.

He possessed an apartment and a car in Hong Kong which his wife'd left behind. The car was in a parking lot a block up the lane and the apartment faced a bustling street and was tiny and painted white as white was her favorite color. She used to call it a color of solace and purity, for Mark, however, it represented mourning.

Once he arrived in Hong Kong, he took a cab instead of waiting for a chauffeur to fetch him. It was already midnight but the city was still in full swing, its neon signboards shimmering in the dark and people chatting clamorously under the awnings of bars and round-the-clock stores. At home he wiped all the surfaces clean, changed the bedding and lied down, his tired eyes boring into the ceiling as though attempting to find answers to the questions he couldn't formulate.

-

There was a down at heel bar not so far from his housing, and he strolled there to grab a drink before going to sleep. He hoped that alcohol would at least make him drowsy and he'd be out like a light in an hour or so. It was bare apart from a tipsy lad, quite young with a slight bristle on his chin and a glower, directed at nothing or nobody in particular. Mark ordered Tom Collins and sat in the corner of a counter, quietly observing the guy as the latter pulled a phone out of his pocket, unlocked it then put it back. His frown altered to defeat and chagrin, and he sipped at his drink that'd turned warm by then.

"What are you staring at?"

Mark flinched and quickly looked around to spot a source of the question. It was the guy.

"Nothing. You look a bit down though."

"None of your business, apparently", the guy snarled, his voice hoarse, and took his phone out again, the wrinkles on his forehead getting more prominent, protruding.

"No need to be so rude", Mark said calmly, "Also you're boring holes in your phonescreen so there's something that's bothering you at the moment. Trouble in Paradise?"

"Sherlock."

"I don't need to be Sherlock to figure out such a simple thing. Boring."

"I'd punch you, but I don't want to get in trouble so just piss off while I'm in a good mood."

Mark fished out a cigarette and asked a bartender to light it. He smiled.

"Well, it seems to me that you're a student who ended up in Hong Kong under rather odd circumstances. And you speak English."

The guy didn't snap this time.

"Obviously. But no, I'm not a student. Not anymore, at least. I dropped out of a college."

He asked a bartender for a supplement and sighed as if the weight of the world was lying heavy on his shoulders and back.

"Then, what are you doing here?"

"Nothing in particular", the guy replied, still nameless, tapping his bony fingers on the counter impatiently, "What do you do?"

Mark crossed his legs and leaned back.

"Well, I'm an actor, but not that affluent."

"And I'm a screenwriter", the guy suddenly stated.

"Oh, so you're writing screenplays?"

"Well, not anymore."

"That's a pity. I'd like to read something of yours. You seem rather interesting as if you have something important to tell. I can see it in your eyes. You're young, aren't you? How old are you?"

"Twenty four."

Mark sighed, defeated, and lifted his glass, the ice clincking inside of it. Another immature, but ambitious twenty-something youngster, full of himself and self-confident, that's for sure.

Just like her, he thought.

He peered down at his hand lying on the counter, at his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, then his perceptive eyes flickered to the bartender and his stained apron and greasy trousers. He was rather stout, but as gauche as a child.

"I'm Jaebum", a flash of sincere confusion passed through Mark's face as he stared at the guy questioningly, "Jaebum."

"Oh, I see. Nice to meet you then. I'm Mark."

"You're not from around here, I presume?"

"No, I'm not. We're shooting a movie here."

"What movie?"

"I can't tell you that. It's strictly confidential."

Jaebum's eyebrows twitched yet he didn't dare to ask anything else, looking alert as if he was trying to locate a source of a sound. Then he pulled out his phone again and loured.

All of a sudden, he sprang up, left a heap of coins and a banknote on the counter and before darting out of the bar said,

"It was nice to meet you too, Mark."

5.

Movie shootings started on Monday. Mark had to put on a tweed suit, a turquoise shirt and black leather dress shoes. He didn't usually wear such clothing, it had a slight touch of the odor that belonged to a model office as a rule. He preferred sneakers and jeans, but he had to play a professor, a person of a great intellect, he didn't have any other choice but stick to the stereotypes that people had regarding professors' appearance more often than not.

He arrived in his car. Even though they proposed a car and a private driver, he politely declined the offer. He missed his Pontiac and late night drives around the city so he didn't mind using his late wife's rather rare Buick.

Later on, after that day's shootings were over, he decided to go on a routine midnight drive to silently absorb people and their fast-paced lives; he was watching a documentary all alone. He felt thousands years old as if it all had already happened, the circle had already broken and set all his long-forgotten memories free. They were hanging in the air, forming a cobweb so complex that if a person'd attempted to untangle it and arrange it properly in a chronological order he'd have probably failed. For a reason which he couldn't point out he loved that sensation.

Then he was pulled out of a trance he'd been in.

It was a car accident.

The issue consisted in a car he'd managed to plunge into, or, to be more accurate, a driver.

Jaebum.

6.

He neither got off his car nor he bothered to slide down the window and yell obscenities at Mark who was a defined culprit. He was just sitting there, staring at Mark through his crannied windshield and holding a cigarette in one hand like it was a trifle that they all could laugh about. Yet Mark was perfectly aware of the consequences that were about to emanate. He had to call the police, but Jaebum wasn't moving at all. He was just gaping at him or at something behind him, Mark wasn't quite sure. Jaebum's eyes were bleary and unfocused as if he came to a standstill for a passing second and could pull himself together at any time.

(The road was empty at this time of the day so nobody could intrude or cause a fuse.)

Mark approached the car and tapped on the window, "Jaebum? Jaebum, are you alright?"

Jaebum blinked three or four times and suddenly burst into a raucous yet bitter laughter. He slid down his window, but neither said nor did anything that could indicate his frustration. On the contraty, his laughter as Mark assumed could be heard in each corner of the city, it was heartfelt and sonorous with an undertow of concealed sadness.

Then as if by magic he simmered down and flicked his head up to look at Mark and inquired in a croaky voice, "Am I still alive?"

His smile faltered and dissipated as soon as he discerned that he was indeed safe and sound when he swiftly checked out his vastly damaged windshield and front bumper.

"Hey, I have no clue what's going on and, to be honest, I don't give a damn, but maybe we could discuss this mess?", Mark proposed. He was on edge and, above all, drained. He could fall asleep standing or afoot at that point. He didn't care.

7.

Ten minutes later they were at a down and out bar, lost in an intersection of side streets.

Mark ordered Americano, and Jaebum ordered nothing, but a glass of cold water. They were only customers at that time of the day so a host, as dejected and peevish as any other old man, wasn't quite happy about them barging into his place at night. The steam from the hot cup of coffee was slowly drifting endlong and waning in the air, and Mark was lounging there, boring holes in Jaebum's clothed ribcage and fingers, uncertain about whether he should bring up the topic or not.

Then he entwined his fingers and leaned in.

"So let's sort things out: it's my fault. There are three options: either you drive your car to a car service, they evaluate the damage then you give me the invoice and I pay for your car's repair; either we call the police, they record it all and then we meet at a court; or I just transfer as much money as you desire to your bank account and we go our separate ways."

"You're rolling in money, aren't you?", Jaebum attempted at taunting him.

"Listen. It's too serious."

"The fact is I plunged headlong into your fancy car, it was my fault so, basically speaking, I must pay for the damage I caused."

"What?", Mark was watching him intently.

"I did it out of sheer curiosity", Jaebum deadpanned, his dull eyes on Mark's face.

"What do you mean by curiosity?"

"I mean that I wanted to undergo a car crash. I'd been intrigued for a long time."

"But you were aware of the aftermath, what could ensue. We both could die."

"I hadn't taken that into account."

Mark leaned back into his seat and sighed, taking the mug to his mouth and sipping at his cold coffee, weighing Jaebum's words. He was dead tired of interacting with people he couldn't withstand, of Hong Kong and traffic lights and his car being a complete shambles and of his inane life. He wanted to put a stop to it. However, Jaebum wasn't helping. And all Mark desired to do at that point was to clout him.

"So. What are we supposed to do then?", he asked, supposing that he wouldn't get a definite answer that would satisfy them both.

"I'll do what you'll tell me to do", Jaebum replied, nonchalant, "It's not my car anyway. It's my, well, close friend's. He's the owner, you can contact him and tell him all about this mess. I'll confirm your words and deal with the outcome. And that's it. I'll pay back though, not him."

Then he fished out a pen and quickly wrote a number and a name on a clean napkin.

Jackson.

"Don't tell him that you own a damn Buick though. He'll tear me apart if he finds out that I defiled your car. He has a weakness for such cars. They cost a fortune nowadays."

"How will you pay me back if I don't know your number? And he'll see my car anyway", Mark asked as he rubbed his tired eyes hard and ordered another cup of coffee.

The owner huffed and slapped another cup back on the table in front of Mark, grumbling a litany of obscenities that Mark couldn't decode. However, instead of making a scene, he slightly inclined his head and strained a polite smile.

"It's not my car either", he began, "it used to belong to other people. Nobody'd ridden it for years, if not a decade so."

"Other people?"

"My wife. She passed away a couple of years ago so all her possessions were passed on to me. She'd obtained that Buick from her father."

"Oh", Jaebum nodded, and Mark noticed the twist of his chapped lips as they shaped a smile, a little subtle and unsure, "You're a single man, aren't you? Remember that movie?"

"She died in a plane crash."

"Imagine that in an alternate universe we met our end half hour ago, what world would we fall into? Would be that place totally empty? Or as they describe it in the Bible or Quran? Van Gogh once said that death'd take us to another star."

"Listen, I don't have much time. I have to be at work at dawn so I want to take a short nap and have breakfast before shootings start."

Jaebum took his pen again and added another number under his friend's and drew it up to him.

"When you come to a presice decision, call me or Jackson. We'll work something out, repair your car and that's all."

Mark folded it in four and put it in his breast pocket, and then he said flatly, "Three days."

"Fine."

8.

His apartment in Hong Kong had large floor-to-ceiling windows so that he could contemplate the city at any time of a day, taking in illuminated streets which were branching off the center in all directions, creating a prodigious net unfurling up to the bay. The sun was already up, and he had to be at the local university for shootings in an hour or so. He couldn't be late yet Mark wistfully wished he had some time to take the edge off, eat a proper breakfast and pull himself together.

He thought of his Buick and of its cracked windshield and crumbled front bumper which weren't that hard to patch up and set right. And he could afford it. Still, he was eager to find out what would come out of their "deal". Jaebum was as witty and quick-thinking as her so he'd unriddle it in a trice, Mark was sure of it.

He flicked his head up and looked out on the streets, already throbbing and rustling so early in the morning, shopkeepers, office workers and others quickly crossing a road junction, cars honking at loitering pedestrians, thus creating a cacophony of sounds that defined the city.

All of a sudden, Mark recalled Jaebum, his large veiny hands, a mullet and a detached manner of speaking which astounded the older at first, calling forth a sensation that he couldn't name, but then it was entirely gone once Jaebum and a trace of his presence were out of sight.

9.

Youngjae or as the cast called him the director allowed Mark to have a day off as there weren't any scenes which needed his participation on that particular day. So he went for a saunter around the district his apartment building was located in, pondering upon the option Jaebum'd offered. Blame was on him as well since he wasn't looking at the road when they clashed so he couldn't take all the money. It'd be unfair.

He had to come up with a solution as soon as possible.

Jaebum

1.

He was twenty four years old.

He hasn't been home for three years.

And those three years he'd spent on loving someone who could never love him back. And he wasn't as dramatic as one would assume. He literally didn't stand a chance. Period. So the only label that he could still snatch and stick proudly on his chest, right above his heart, was a best friend or a close friend. And he did that, he didn't attempt to press down and get a little closer, he didn't want to hurt anyone, including himself, so he stepped back, put on a false front and smiled as wide as he was able to when Jackson introduced him to her. At that moment he heard the crunch: his ribcage and heart'd putrified all together and left nothing. He was hollowed out.

So he strolled to that bar at midnight which was a block down Jackson's apartment building and met Mark, an actor, who was apparently older and possessed Buick which windshield, bumper and probably, but not surely front headlights he, unfortunately, smashed. It wasn't an accident as Mark'd presumed, it was intentional although Jaebum couldn't really see Mark's face so he didn't have enough time to leave the road in time.

Obviously, he wasn't good at dealing with the consequences at all.

2.

He wasn't a screenwriter or anything at all. To put it simply, he'd told Mark a white lie. It didn't inflict any harm or damage on him, and they'd part ways soon enough for Mark to forget all about him or what he did so he didn't have to fret about the upshot.

Mostly, he spent his time on writing and producing music which neither him nor the rest of the world needed. Jackson owned a studio in downtown so he could sit there and record songs, putting them together, using chaotic notes on napkins and pages torn out of books and newspapers and his messed up feelings that he had to bring order to. Sometimes he worked at Jackson's uncle's restaurant as his face attracted attention, lured potential customers in and yielded fruit. He could only laugh at that.

He was living at Jackson's place. It was quite large so his friend had enough space for him to fill in. He allotted a room to Jaebum which was situated a bit too far from Jackson's bedroom so that he wouldn't have to worry about his girlfriend calling in on them now and then. His room was bare, and all he had in his posession was a futon, boxes, full of vinyl records and books that he found in his father's desk when he was a teenager, and a record player that used to belong to his late grandfather he's never seen. He'd died before Jaebum was born so he didn't have an opportunity to get to know that man who'd been fond of Brahms and Frank Sinatra.

3.

During those three days he'd given the actor to make up his mind he watched all the movies Mark starred in. Yet it was quite arduous to compare Mark the actor with that Mark who was strained and desolate. Mark the actor could alter personalities and moods according to each scene to a fare-thee-well. He transformed right in front of the audience, shedding skin and then putting on another one. He could pull off each character, either old or young, a doctor or a soldier, it all didn't matter unless it was him.

Mark whom he met at that night was burned out.

He resembled a white room that didn't have any doors or windows.

And it was empty.

4.

Mark called three days later.

They agreed to meet at a tea restaurant that was usually a bit thronged in the evening and served delicious wonton noodles and beef chow fun. There was a smother in the corner of the restaurant. Elderly were watching a football match: they leaped up when a team they were rooting for scored a goal and loudly reviled and held onto their grey heads as if they were mourning when another team did the same.

Mark was a little late, winded and trying to take off his coat and throw a fleeting glance at their surroundings all together. He fell onto the chair and took a deep breath, then fished a cigarette out of his breast pocket and lit it up, watching smoke dissolve as soon as it hit the ceiling.

He didn't order anything.

"So?", was Jaebum's question.

"I'd been mulling it for a while. I hadn't thought out another adequate solution, and I hate red tape so. I agree. Repair my car, and that's it."

"What about money?"

"I don't really care about money. You seem to be a decent guy so you don't have to repay me. Mending that old car will be more than enough."

It caught Jaebum off guard, but he didn't dispay it. He looked down at his wonton noodles, then lifted his head up and threw a quick glance at the crowd that was getting completely shitfaced after their team'd lost the match. He'd probably laugh at a bunch of old men if he didn't feel so hollow and tired. Then he peered at Mark.

"How are shootings going?", he asked.

"Fine", the older cut short, "I just have to get through another week, and then I'll go home."

"When will they release it?"

"They always release them a year later or so. Why are you even asking?"

"I've watched all the movies you've starred in so far, and, to be honest, your acting's impressed me, though I generally don't give a damn about cinematography. Consider me a fan."

He laughed, but when Mark didn't even smile back, he coughed and changed the topic.

"A week's enough. They'll patch up your car in four or five days, if not sooner. Where's it?"

"It's outside."

"Alright. Do you need a ride home?"

"Yeah. But can we stay here for a little longer? I need a drink", and he ordered a pint glass of beer.

Mark's face was pale and lacking in emotions. He appeared so tired and withdrawn as though the years of acting cut off his bona fide self and left him bare.

"I don't want to go home", Mark suddenly said.

"What? Why?"

"It makes me ponder on things I wish I could blank out or forget."

"Then where do you want to go?"

Mark shrugged and lit up another cigarette, his fingers slightly trembling as he brought the glass to his mouth and sipped at his cold beer.

"I can't invite you to my place because it's not really my place", Jaebum replied, observing Mark as he finished a whole cigarette in three drags.

"Then we can go to a nearby hotel."

"What will they think of us if we burst into the hotel together and ask for a room?"

"Who cares? I stopped paying attention to those things a long time ago. And they usually don't give a shit about such trivia so don't worry."

And that's how they ended up in the hotel that was located in a side street. Their room had a double bed and run-down wallpapers. Mark pulled off his coat and dress shoes and climbed on the bed while Jaebum was struggling to unfasten his leather jacket and combat boots.

"She liked those boots too", Mark noted.

"Who?"

"My wife. I told you about her last time."

Jaebum lied down beside Mark, trying not to intrude into his personal space or come into contact with his skin. He looked up at the ceiling and noticed that there wasn't a chandelier.

"So you love that guy? Your friend", the question perturbed Jaebum, and he turned bright red.

"What are you t-talking about?"

"I can see right through you. I'm not blind."

"I don't have a chance. He's engaged. Well, not officially yet, but I guess he'll muster the courage soon enough."

"Imagine", Mark mumbled, changing the subject all of a sudden, "that in an alternate universe we met our end three days ago, what world would we fall into? Would that place be totally empty? Or as they describe it in the Bible or Quran?"

"That was my question."

"Just reply. Don't be a git."

"That place would be empty."

"Why?"

"Because we're both empty, you and I. Why would our resting place be on fire or heaped up with feathers? Or was I supposed to answer that we'd fall into Paradise or Hell?"

"No. But you're right though. We're both empty, you and I."

Epilogue

Jackson and his team set Mark's car right in four days, and Mark arrived to fetch it as soon as shootings were over. Jaebum was there too.

"Here it is, Mr. Tuan", Jackson stated, a bright smile on his face, "We've made it as good as new. No scratches, no dents, no slits."

"Thank you", Mark replied, his lips cracking in a polite grin, "And you, Jaebum."

"Yet again sorry for the inconvenience. So you're flying home? When?", Jaebum queried.

"Tomorrow, I suppose. My manager hasn't sent me a ticket yet. Nevertheless, yes, tomorrow."

"Well. Have a safe flight then. Can you sign it for me though?"

Mark laughed for the first time in a month.

"Have you turned into another fan?"

"Well, I've met a star. I need a proof so I could brag about it to my friends", Jaebum responded.

"Fine. Give it to me then."

He signed the first page of his notepad and after a short chat with others he sauntered out of Jackson's garage, slid into his car and drove off as if he'd been only an optical illusion.

-

Months later Jaebum released a song called "Empty". And there was a line in the first verse that he mentally dedicated to Mark.

"And if we died today, what would our afterworld be? It'd be empty just like you and me."


End file.
